


Cat Fancy

by sorrowfulcheese



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Silly, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 10:08:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3892408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrowfulcheese/pseuds/sorrowfulcheese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a tumblr prompt, Varric inadvertently acquires five cats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cat Fancy

    He hadn't realised it was so late until he heard a child's soft cry and looked up, and realised the hall was almost entirely dark and empty. The fire behind him was still bright but his candles had burned low; torches in the hall lit the calm faces of the guards who stood alert. None of them appeared to have heard what Varric had heard.  
  
    He set down his quill and rubbed his eyes. He knew the business of the Merchant's Guild and despised it, but couldn't drag himself away from the life, from the work. It was easier to avoid the letters and ledgers in Kirkwall, oddly, than it was in remote Skyhold.  
  
    The child cried again, and Varric frowned. The guards did not react. Varric stood, winced as his back and hips reminded him he'd been sitting in one place for hours. He stretched until his joints popped and he gritted his teeth against a yawn, and as he pulled on his coat, swung Bianca to his back, and headed for the door, he listened.  
  
    A third time he heard the cry—weaker this time, he was sure of it—and he trotted down the stone stairs to the courtyard, cast about for the direction of the distressed call.  
  
    He followed it at last to a stack of granite slabs; had the child been playing on the stones and fallen? Why had no one seen it happen?  
  
    Because it was the middle of the night, of course. Varric glanced around, headed toward a sconce on the wall and grabbed the torch from it, then returned to the granite pile.  
  
    The light from the torch illuminated bright green eyes and Varric froze a moment, his mind coming up with terrifying scenarios, before he realised that the eyes belonged to a tiny black cat. The cat mewled again, softly, and blinked against the torchlight, but did not move except to rest its head on the grass.  
  
    Varric frowned and crouched, held the torch high so he could see the cat; its fur glistened wetly. "Shit," Varric sighed. Gingerly he reached out to touch the fur and his fingertips came back dark with blood. "What happened to you, cat?" There was no response.  
  
     _If Anders was here…_  
  
    But Anders was not.  
  
    There were other mages, however, capable of healing. Not that their efforts should be wasted on a cat, of course.  
  
    But if the Inquisition was not willing to care for the least of the Maker's creations, how could anyone trust them to care for the people of Thedas?  
  
    He hated his brain sometimes. If only he'd been born stupid to a mining caste or even smithing caste—  
  
    But no. He was who he was, and even he didn't want to see an animal suffer. Varric sighed and stuck the torch into the granite pile, braced between two pieces of stone. He removed his coat and lay it on the grass. Gently as he could he slid his hands beneath the cat and he realised it was purring deeply. He set it down on his coat and folded the coat around the tiny body, picked it up and carried it back to the keep.  
  
    He made his way to the mages' quarters and asked after a specific mage. She had gone to the library, he was told, and he headed in that direction. A librarian, carefully tidying Dorian's little cubby, paused and raised an eyebrow. "Is there something I can do for you, serah Tethras?"  
  
    "I'm looking for—" Varric turned his head and spotted his objective just as she looked up at him. "Never mind," Varric said, and headed around the ring to meet her. "I need your help," he said quietly.  
  
    "I wouldn't have taken you for a cat-lover, Varric," she said wryly, as she directed him to set his bundle on a nearby table.  
  
    "I'm not," he said with a sigh. "But you know how it is."  
  
    "I know exactly how one picks up strays."  
  
    He saw a glimpse of something melancholy in her dark eyes, but it was gone in a moment as she unfolded his coat and stroked the cat's wet fur with her fingertips. The cat seemed hardly to notice, until she touched one of its paws, and then it jerked and cried, and resumed purring.  
  
    "It looks like she was attacked from above," she said thoughtfully. "She's torn along her back and ribs, but not below, and she's got a broken leg. I wonder if a hawk took her. Dropped her, maybe if she was fighting back."  
  
    "Why's it purring like that?" Varric wondered. "Is it happy we found it or something?"  
  
    "Cats purr when they're badly injured. Sometimes when they're afraid. No one's sure why." Her hands were confident as she moved them over the little body, and bluish light gleamed between her fingers. The cat continued to purr.  
  
    "Weird," Varric murmured.  
  
    "What is?"  
  
    "They purr when they're happy, purr when they're scared, purr when they're hurt? See, this is why I like people. You can learn how people react to different things. They're predictable."  
  
    "Cats are predictable," she assured him, as she finished the spell and ran her hand over the cat's body from head to tail. "You just have to concentrate harder to read them." She flashed a small smile.  
  
    The cat sat up and immediately began to groom itself. Varric watched it a moment, then looked up. "Yeah, I got enough on my plate right now. Thanks for the help, though."  
  
    "Any time."  
  
    "Off my coat, cat," Varric grumbled. "Now I have to get blood off it."  
  
    "Adds to the mystique. You can weave a grand tale of rescuing a damsel in distress, of having carried her through tumultuous weather and over treacherous terrain to find healing for her."  
  
    "Don't tempt me," Varric chuckled. "You and you-know-who will end up the heroes."  
  
    "Don't you dare." She gave him a mock angry look, and then flicked her fingers dismissively at him. "Off with you, serah. I've got an appointment tonight."  
  
    "I'll bet you do."  
  
    "Don't make me smite you."    
  
    With a grin, Varric reached out and picked up the cat, which made an indignant sound; he set it down again on the table and gathered his coat, folded it over one arm. "Thanks again," he said, and headed back toward the main hall and his ledgers.  
  
    He tidied his work and put it away in a locked box that he stashed in a nearby concealed cupboard—Skyhold was full of secrets, wasn't it?—and then dragged himself up to his room to catch some sleep.  
  
    In the morning he washed and shaved, joined several others for breakfast in the hall, and then made his way to his little spot near the fireplace, where he withdrew his ledgers and resumed his work from the night before. The beet farm was thriving and the family share in it had somehow doubled. What were they going to do with so many beets?  
  
    Beets were versatile, of course, and excellent food if cooked right. He'd heard some whispers somewhere that someone had taken the extracted sugars from the beets and managed to make liquor similar to rum. He would have to look into that. It could be profitable.  
  
    He was nudged from his thoughts when a shadow appeared and slid over the table. Varric blinked and focused. The cat sat primly down and watched him with one blue eye, one green.  
  
    "What?" Varric demanded.  
  
    The cat's pink tongue flicked out to touch its nose and then vanished again; it blinked once and continued to watch him.  
  
    Varric flicked his hand toward it. "Look, go catch mice or whatever you do. I'm sure the cook will be grateful for it."  
  
    The cat made a soft trilling sound, stood and walked to the end of the table. It leaped silently down and marched, tail high, to the front door. The guards watched it approach; it looked from one to the other and one of them reached out to push the door open slightly. The cat walked through with another soft trill, and was gone.  
  
    Varric shook his head and returned to his work.  
  
    It was lunchtime when he saw the cat again, carrying something in its mouth.  
  
    His stomach sank a moment; he'd told it to catch a mouse. Had it brought the damn thing to him?  
  
    The cat jumped up on the table and deposited a small surprised kitten atop Varric's ledger. The kitten wobbled on its legs and peered nearsightedly around itself.  
  
    "Uh, no thanks," Varric said. "Dwarves don't need cats. We don't keep pets. It's okay."  
  
    The black cat vanished and left Varric alone with a black kitten barely as long as Varric's finger. He stared at the kitten a moment. "Don't piss on my books," he told it.  
  
    The kitten's little legs gave out on it and it cried piteously, crawled over the ledger, close to ink that was not yet dry. Varric scooped it up in one hand.  
  
   _so fragile_  
  
    It felt like it would break if he closed his fingers over it.  
  
    The kitten rested its head against the heel of his palm and promptly went to sleep.  
  
    "Shit," Varric said.  
  
    By the time the black cat had returned a second time, Varric's Guild work was completed and he had settled down to do some writing. The kitten was asleep in the sleeve of his tunic, a warm and tiny and surprisingly calming presence. The cat jumped up on the table and dropped a second kitten there.  
  
    "Are these even yours?" Varric demanded. "Look, I told you already that I don't want any cats. There are people here who like cats. Kids who want kittens as pets. I'm neither. I—"  
  
    The cat was gone.  
  
    Varric sighed. The second kitten, more charcoal than black, turned its head shakily and mewled. the kitten in his sleeve woke up and returned the high-pitched call.  
  
    One of the guards looked suspiciously at Varric.  
  
    He stuffed the second kitten into his sleeve and the two kittens snuggled together there and dozed.  
  
    By nightfall the cat had brought him two more kittens—one a silvery-grey and one calico—and sat contentedly washing itself beside the fire. At last it stretched out on the hearth and trilled; immediately the kittens awoke and began creeling.  
  
    "Dinnertime, I'm guessing," Varric murmured, and gingerly set all four kittens on the floor beside the cat. Immediately they began to nurse and the black cat began to purr. As the kittens finished nursing the cat washed each and every one thoroughly with her tongue and then groomed herself while they dozed around her, bellies distended. Varric watched her for a long time before he shook himself from reverie and returned his attention to his work.  
  
    The next morning, as he was sorting the letters that had arrived for him—half of them he marked "return to sender"—he glanced down at the cat as she watched the kittens push themselves up, legs trembling, and collapse on their bellies on the hearth.  
  
    Varric called out to one of the Keep's growing number of children, made a simple request. Before noon a sturdy woven basket and a thick cushion had mysteriously appeared near the hearth—opposite Varric's table, of course—and the kittens practised standing and falling in comfort.  
  
    Mid-afternoon, fanfare sounded in the courtyard, a declaration that the Inquisitor's party had returned. Varric looked up as the Inquisitor strode in, confident, a grin on his face and a spark of mischief in his eyes. He was followed by the Iron Bull, who was filthy and left the stench of blood in his wake. Beside Bull Dorian stepped quickly to keep up, his robes pristine and not a hair out of place.  
  
    Cassandra was last, sharp eyes missing nothing. She glanced at Varric and immediately diverted her path, and he cursed silently. "Varric," she greeted him.  
  
    "Seeker."  
  
    "I have finished the latest Swords and Shields, and I—" She froze a moment, then looked down. "What is—?"  
  
    Varric stood to see. The black cat wound itself around Cassandra's ankles, tail high. "I guess she likes you," he noted. "You want a cat?"  
  
    "Why is there a cat in the Grand Hall?" Cassandra demanded.  
  
    "Well, her kittens are here, for one," he said calmly.  
  
    Cassandra stared at him. "Why are there kittens in the Grand Hall?" she snapped.  
  
    "I wish I could explain it," Varric told her. "But I'm not very well-read when it comes to cat behaviour."  
  
    Bull and Dorian had turned back to listen, and Bull crouched beside the basket. "Look how little they are," he marveled as he picked up the charcoal kitten. It spat a crackling hiss at him and Bull chuckled. "Fierce, too," he said. Gently he stroked the tiny head with a fingertip. "How old are they?"  
  
    "No idea," Varric said. "Dwarves don't keep pets."  
    "That's a load of crap," Bull informed him cheerfully as he rolled the kitten to its back and rubbed its belly. The kitten flailed its tiny paws at his hand and purred. "I know lots of dwarves who keep pets. Nugs, cats, oxen. Lots in Ferelden who have mabari."  
  
    Varric shook his head.  
  
    "They're adorable," Dorian said, and let the three in the basket chase his fingers clumsily. "They're probably only a couple of weeks old. Eyes are open, but they still can't retract their claws."  
  
    Cassandra shot him a look. "And how would you know?"  
  
    Dorian smiled faintly, still watching the kittens. "My family always kept cats in the house. They're excellent at keeping down vermin, and they're remarkable judges of character. Good at sniffing out magic, too."  
  
    "They would be of more use in the stables, then," Cassandra said pointedly to Varric. "There are always mice in the grain."  
  
    "If the queen feels they're safe here—" Dorian began.  
  
    "What queen?" snapped Cassandra.  
  
    "Who are you calling a queen?" Varric demanded.  
  
    Dorian rolled his eyes. "That's the term for a female cat," he said. "If she feels they're safe here—and she does, or she wouldn't have brought them here and kept them here—putting them elsewhere won't do any good. She'll just bring them back." He looked up at Cassandra. "My mother's best linens were once host to a lovely calico and her brood. My father did all he could to move that cat. Turns out calicos are surprisingly immune to a number of repulsion spells." He grinned. "He eventually gave up. Once the kittens were old enough, they went their own ways, and my mother bought new linens." He stood. Bull looked up from the kitten dozing in his massive palm; Dorian raised an eyebrow, turned and swept away. Bull watched him go.  
  
    Cassandra shook her head, turned her attention back to Varric. "You will need the Inquisitor's permission to keep them here," she said.  
  
    "I'm sure it'll be fine."  
  
    " _Explicit_ permission."  
  
    "All right."  
  
    She eyed him suspiciously another moment before she wheeled and stalked toward the War Room. The black cat leaped gracefully to the table to watch her go.  
  
    "So, what's the story, Varric?" Bull set the sleeping kitten into the basket next to its siblings, stroked all the plush little bodies as they squirmed to cuddle together.  
  
    Varric sighed. "Not much of one," he admitted. "Inky there—" The cat's head turned in response. "—was hurt, probably by a hawk or something, got dropped off in the courtyard. Warden figures she fought back and missed out on being dinner."  
  
    "Hungry hawk," Bull mused. "Cats don't have much meat on 'em. Or it might've mistaken her for a rabbit."  
  
    "I guess." Varric shrugged and sat down, pulled a clean piece of paper toward himself.  
  
    "How bad was she hurt?"  
  
    "Pretty bad. She'd've died."  
  
    "Ah."  
  
    Varric looked up without lifting his head. "No, I did not nurse her to health. I took her to one of the mages."  
  
    "It's kind of an honour, to be chosen by a cat." Bull stood and stretched.  
  
    "If you say so."  
  
    Bull grinned. "Cards tonight?"  
  
    "Yeah, that sounds good."  
  
    "Mind if I tell Krem about your little clowder here? He really likes cats. Says they remind him of being in his father's shop when he was a kid."  
  
    "Go ahead," Varric agreed. "If he wants to take them all, he's welcome to." Bull chuckled softly and turned to head in the direction Dorian had gone.  
  
    The hall fell quiet again, save the soft clank and rustle of the guards' armour. Varric picked up his quill and sucked on the end of it a moment, thoughtful.  
  
    Next to him, Inky yawned and stretched, lay down with her back pressed along the length of Varric's arm. Varric watched her a moment, then dipped his quill into his ink bottle and smiled as he began to write.  
  
     _"Hawke,_  
  
_Hope life is treating you well. Haven't heard from you in a bit, nor from Bethany,_  
_but she keeps her distance these days and I don't press. My sources say she's doing_  
_just fine where she is, and that the kid is all right._  
  
_Say hi to Blondie for me, if he's still with you. And tell him that I may have_  
_accidentally adopted five cats, and I don't know what to do with them. Any advice he can_  
_offer would be appreciated…"_  
  
    The cat continued to sleep pressed against his arm and Varric took care not to wake her as he spent the afternoon writing letters and, eventually, the beginnings of the adventure story that the Warden had suggested to him.


End file.
